Big Trouble
by Halcris
Summary: An unwelcome import fro America causes C.I.5 a great deal of trouble.


**Big Trouble. **

Bodie and Doyle entered their boss's office, to see him scowling at a paper in his hand.

"Nice one, this is," he said waving it at them. "Warning from our American friends that we may have inherited some villains, who have been rampaging over there, but have suddenly disappeared from the scene."

"And they think they may have come over here ?, queried Bodie.

"That's it," agreed Cowley. "The Tonga Gang."

"The what ?," exclaimed Doyle incredulously.

"The Tonga Gang," repeated his boss. "Apparently one of them is from Tonga, and like many of his race is very big and strongly built. And, so it's rumoured, the rest of the gang, who have been recruited from various different backgrounds, are equally large."

"Well," said Bodie smugly, "We've dealt with big and ugly before."

"But this lot are particularly ruthless and nasty," went on Cowley. "They started off attacking out of the way petrol stations or 'greasy spoons'. They took all they could lay their hands on, and to make sure, left no witnesses. They shot down the owners mercilessly."

"Nasty !," commented Doyle, as his boss continued. "Then they graduated to jewellers and small banks. And they were equally ruthless there, killing the staff and anyone who was present."

"Is there any evidence to show that they may have come here ?," asked Doyle, a grim look on his face.

"No," replied his boss. "Just that the Americans think so. But we've nothing to go on really. We have no names and no descriptions. And it's only 'hearsay' that they are all big."

"And big men are coming in all the time," said Bodie morosely. "Especially from the States. Lots of them are big."

Yes," agreed Doyle. "If they came in as a group they would be very noticeable, but not if it was only one at a time, and into different airports."

"Well," said Cowley, "We'll just have to keep our eyes and ears open, and see if anything happens. Talk to your contacts. They may hear something."

The pair left to get on with their current work.

"I hope it's only a false alarm," said Doyle, as they went down the stairs. "They sound a very unpleasant lot."

But his hope was not justified !

When they reported in the following morning, Cowley summoned them into his office.

"I'm afraid our American colleagues were right," he said, handing them a report.

With heads together the pair quickly read it. It told of an attack on a small bank on the out-skirts of Liverpool. Every bit of negotiable cash had been taken, and the manager and two cashiers, one a young woman, had been brutally shot dead.

But there had been a sighting, albeit a rather long-distance one. A builder, working on the flashing round a chimney on a house some way further along the same road, heard the shots and looked in the right direction, He was just in time to see several men run out of the bank, and pile into two waiting cars.

He hadn't been near enough to give any sort of description of the men, apart from confirming that they were all big. And all he could say about the cars was that they were both black, and he thought one was a heavy Range Rover type.

By the time they had finished reading through all this, both men had grim expressions.

"They have got to be found and stopped," declared Doyle vehemently.

"I'd gladly shoot the lot of them," exclaimed Bodie fiercely. "Do you want us to go up there ?."

Before Cowley could answer, a typist knocked and entered, handing him a paper. He scanned it quickly, then answered Bodie's query.

"No, I don't," he said. "This is from the Liverpool police. There have been likely sightings of vehicles fitting the builder's description."

"Oh, where?," said Bodie eagerly.

Cowley looked grim as he answered. "On the M62, and again on the M6," he replied. "It looks as if they are heading south, maybe nearer our way."

"What can we do ?," queried Bodie eagerly

"Very little, as yet," replied his boss, "We're helpless until we locate them, and they are still on the move. However the police are monitoring all the roads and I'm getting regular reports."

"One thing we can do," suggested Doyle. "Is to let all our sources know what we're up against, so that they can be alert. If a sudden group of big men turns up somewhere, they would be pretty noticeable."

"Right," agreed Cowley, "Get out there and do that. But report back here to keep up to date on the latest sightings."

The pair dashed off and used every way of spreading the word about the Tonga Gang. Knowing many of the criminal fraternity on their own patch, they were quite sure they would get help, for even the worst of them would resent a foreign gang coming in, especially one as nasty and ruthless as this lot, killing innocent bystanders so freely.

Then they returned to the office to hear the latest updates on the gang's progress. Cowley was ready to bring them up-to-date.

"They seem to have by-passed Birmingham," he reported, "for they weren't picked up there, but they are definitely moving south. The Liverpool police have been correlating their stolen car list with the meagre description they have of the cars, and have come up with a 'probable' number plate for the bigger one, and two 'possibles' for the smaller more common one."

"That might help a bit," commented Doyle.

A typist knocked and entered, handing Cowley yet another slip of paper. He scanned its contents quickly. Then he passed on the information.

"They were spotted on the road towards Oxford," he said. "Two police cars from Oxford moved north to confirm the sighting, but they didn't encounter them. So they must have turned off somewhere in that area. They are still looking."

"I've been thinking," said Doyle.

Cowley could see that Bodie was about to make some cheap crack, and forestalled him with a glare. Doyle had a quick mind, and Cowley knew from past experience that often Doyle's intuitive ideas had real value.

"Go on," he said encouragingly.

"Well," said Doyle thoughtfully, "They have made very good time coming south, and from the roads they've used, I would guess that at least one of them is no stranger to our shores. Someone knows their way about and where they are going."

Cowley considered this. "You could well be right," he conceded. "Although it doesn't much help till we get some more identification."

"We're stuck in a 'waiting game' again," commented Bodie.

But Doyle's intuition had been right. One member of the gang, the leader, a big blonde giant of Danish extraction, named Sven, had lived in Britain before, and had travelled fairly widely about the country.

He had expertly led the two cars down roads he knew of old, and was very close now to where he wanted to be. He had found the side road he was looking for, and the two cars were now concealed in the shelter of a wood he remembered well. He was explaining to the rest of the gang how all this had come about and what the next plans were.

"A few years ago," he began, "I was working in an office in Aylesbury. A girl there lent me her brother's bicycle, and together we explored a lot of the countryside north of the town. During the hot summer weekends we ranged far and wide and discovered lots of interesting places. In England you can find lots of small farmsteads, in the middle of nowhere, with no close neighbours. One of those will be just the place for us to hide up, and not be noticed. We, as a group, would be too conspicuous if we moved into London all together. We'd have to split up, and that's not ideal."

"Can we find a suitable place ?," asked one of the others eagerly.

"Yes," replied Sven. "I have an exact place in mind. We came across it one sunny Sunday afternoon. It was a lovely old farm house, with several barns and outbuildings. But what particularly took our attention was a quaint old-fashioned wishing-well. Brenda so wanted to take a photograph of that, so we sneaked into the grounds to do it."

His audience were all attention. "What happened ?," asked one of them.

"We got the picture," went on Sven, "and then a crusty old farmer came out of one of the barns. He waved a stick at us and shouted 'Clear off'." He smiled to himself at the recollection. "He was a doddery old chap, so we just ran past him, and left."

"Where is this place ?," asked one of his listeners.

"A couple of miles down this road," replied Sven. "It's got rather a fancy name, so I remember. It's called Willowview Farm."

"When do we move in ?," asked the Tongan, who went by the name of Toki.

"As soon as it gets a bit darker," replied Sven. "Then we can hide the cars up in one of the barns so they can't be seen from the road. Not that there is much passing traffic, but it's better to be on the safe side."

"What about the farmer ?," asked one of the others.

"Oh, we can soon deal with him," replied Sven. "He won't give us any trouble."

He was quite right about that, for when they swept into the yard and turned the cars into their hiding-place in one of the big barns, there was no response from the old farmhouse. And when they walked boldly up to the door, they found it wasn't locked.

So they all moved into the big kitchen. Any occupant would surely have heard the noise of the cars, and then of their entrance, but no-one appeared. However they quickly found the reason for this. Investigating upstairs, Toki entered the biggest bedroom, and let out a startled yell, which brought the others running.

"He's in there," Toki gasped, backing out of the room, "In the bed. I think he's dead."

Sven pushed past him and went to investigate. He came back almost at once. "Yes, he's dead," he confirmed. "Saved us the trouble," he added callously.

Toki was still looking shaken. He was a superstitious man. "I can't stay here with him like that," he exclaimed.

Sven looked at him with some surprise. "He can't hurt you, can he ?," he said. "Still, if it bothers you."

He turned to two of the others, less squeamish than Toki. "Roll him in a blanket," he ordered, "and take him out and bury him in the woods somewhere. That satisfy you, Toki ?"

He led the way back downstairs into the big farmhouse kitchen. He was somewhat contemptuous of Toki's qualms, but knew he was a very useful man and he didn't want to alienate him.

So, to divert him he asked him and one of the others to see what they could rustle up in the way of a meal. This was a successful ploy, as the two raided the larder and used all they could find.

After a pleasing meal, and a few friendly arguments over the various sleeping arrangements, the Tonga Gang settled down, content and confident in their new and safe hideaway.

Sven, who was the mastermind of the group, had wisely decided that it would be good policy to lie low for a bit. But the problem was food for them all. What they had found would at a pinch do for one more day, but no longer.

They could, of course, raid some store, and take whatever they wanted, but that would draw attention to them again. So he decided to play it carefully.

He chose Gregor, who although topping the mark at 6 foot 2 inches, was still the smallest of the gang. He instructed him to take the smaller car, to avoid Aylesbury, the closest town, and go on into Oxford.

He was to lay in a store of food for a lengthy stay, but not all from one place. That might be too conspicuous. He was to go round various different small supermarkets, and buy a reasonable quantity in each. He also was instructed to buy a wide selection of magazines, papers and comics to keep the gang members amused, for they had been forbidden to risk being seen by going out of the house.

But in addition, he had been instructed to keep his eyes open for a small isolated bank or an out of the way jeweller's premises, either of which could be a good target for their next raid.

Oxford's 'dreaming spires' had no idea of the trouble that might be coming their way !

But C.I.5 knew nothing of this, of course. For them the trail had gone cold somewhere north of Oxford, with very little else to go on.

Doyle joined Murphy in a task that both were particularly good at, searching through records. This time they were working on Interpol reports, seeking any known villain that was listed as being ''very big', and finding out what was known of each one's present whereabouts. It was hoped that by working on this, they might discover the identity of some likely members of the Tonga Gang.

Bodie, glad to have got out of this task, the kind he disliked intensely, was off on a different mission. He had been sent to Oxford, to liaise with the police there, to discover the extent of their searching, and to check if there was any progress.

He was greeted and welcomed by a keen young Inspector Mills, who led him at once to a side room where he had several maps spread out on the table.

"The sightings stopped further up this road," he said, indicating it on the map. "Two cars went up from here and didn't encounter them. So we concluded they must have turned off somewhere between this point and Oxford."

Bodie joined him in scanning the map, looking at the options. "That looks a likely choice," he said, pointing.

"Yes, the road to Aylesbury. We thought so too," said Mills. "So I've been working with the police there, and the whole area round about is being patrolled. There are a lot of rural roads to cover, and quite a few isolated farmsteads as well, so it's taking some time. But nothing has been reported yet."

"I think I'll go over there," said Bodie. He smiled at the keen young inspector. "I'll see if their maps are as helpful as yours."

So Bodie left Oxford and set out on the road towards Aylesbury. He was almost there before he became aware of a black car that had been impatiently close behind him for some way, and now swept past at a dangerous speed. He automatically registered the number-plate.

Then something stirred in his memory. Where had he seen that number before ? Suddenly it came back to him. It was one of the numbers sent by the Liverpool police as a 'possible' for the gang's smaller car. It could be a mere co-incidence, of course, but that wasn't likely.

The car was rapidly disappearing, so he decided that the best thing was to try to follow it cautiously without alerting the driver. It might lead him to discover some signs of the gang's hideout, and then he could summon back-up. He certainly wasn't going to tackle that lot on his own !

The black car didn't go into Aylesbury, but turned onto a road going north. Bodie followed carefully

Some way up the road, the driver of the black car indicated a right turn, and moved onto a smaller side road.

Bodie was halted by the traffic streaming south, and had to wait for several cars to pass before he could follow. He speeded up, for his quarry was now out of sight, and he was afraid he'd lost him.

But when he swept round a corner, there it was, parked on the verge beside a large gate leading into a field.

Bodie pulled his car onto the grass some way back, climbed out and moved cautiously towards the stationary vehicle. There was no sign of anyone in it, or anyone near it. He came alongside and bent down to peer in.

Gregor moved swiftly from where he'd been hiding behind the hedge, and felled Bodie with a ferocious blow to the head. His victim collapsed onto the grass and lay still.

Gregor quickly rolled him over, ready to go through his pockets. He had become aware that he was being 'tailed', albeit quite cleverly, and was anxious to find out who had been following him and why ?

He was somewhat surprised when he discovered that his victim was carrying a gun, and even more so as his identity papers came to light. C.I.5 ! He'd heard quite a lot about this organization. Sort of secret police.

Were they onto the Tonga Gang ?. And if so, how?

He decided this was a mystery worth investigating. So he got down to practicalities. He would have liked to have stuck Bodie in the boot of his car out of sight, but that was full of the groceries he had bought.

So he'd have to go in the back. In case he woke up before they got to the farm, Gregor quickly tied him up, whipping off his own tie to do so. He heaved him onto the back seat, and locked all the doors. Then he turned his attention to the man's car.

When Gregor rolled into the yard at Willowview Farm and pulled up by the front door, the rest of the gang were there, ready and waiting, as ordered by Sven, so that they could unload the shopping quickly and the car could be put back out of sight as fast as possible. With so many hands it was soon done.

Only then did Sven look into the car. He turned to Gregor. "That man," he exclaimed. "Who is he ?"

"He was following me," Gregor began to explain.

"Fool ! Why did you bring him here ?." yelled Sven crossly.

"Hang on a minute, Sven," cried Gregor. "Wait till you hear it all. Just get him inside while I put the car away."

Bodie's limp form was quickly man-handled inside and propped up on a kitchen chair. Sven sent another man to hide the car, as he was very keen to hear Gregor's explanation of what seemed to him to be a very stupid move.

The gang gathered round and listened eagerly as Gregor produced first Bodie's gun and then his I.D. Sven grabbed this and studied it closely, as Gregor continued his story.

"I picked up that he was 'tailing' me," he said, "So I stopped at a quiet spot and caught him. I would have dealt with him at once and left, but something made me check his pockets first, and that's what I found."

"Why bring him here ?," asked another of the gang.

"I thought it would be important," went on Gregor, "to find out if he was really onto us, and how C.I.5 had managed that. And then I remembered that Spinks still had some of that 'truth-drug' serum he brought from the States. I thought we could try that out on him and see what we could find out. We can always get rid of him later," he added callously.

"That mightn't be a bad idea," conceded Sven thoughtfully. Then something else occurred to him. "His car ?," he queried. "They'll trace it."

"I dealt with that," replied Gregor. "I moved it off the road and hid it in a wood. It'll take them a while to find it and it isn't on the road to the farm anyway."

By this time their prisoner was beginning to stir. Bodie came to slowly, still groggy from the blow that Gregor had delivered. As he opened his eyes and looked around him, his heart sank. The sight of the group of big men around him told him he was in real trouble now. He was in the hands of the ruthless Tonga Gang ! And he hadn't had the opportunity to tell anyone where he was heading.

He'd had no chance to call for back-up as he had planned.

"I'll go and get my stuff," said the one called Spinks, as he hurried from the room.

While they waited for him to return, the gang resorted to their usual method of interrogation, - violence !

"Who was he ? How had he found them ?," they demanded, and when they got no answers, loaded repeated blows on their helpless captive. But Bodie had been well trained to withstand such treatment. He stoically bore all they meted out and told them nothing

Then Spinks came back with his 'truth' serum !

Murphy and Doyle had completed their laborious task, but were far from satisfied with the results. They had eventually pulled out eleven names from the hundreds they had looked at. But on further investigation of those, they found one had just died in Italy, and three were in prison in South America. That left seven 'possibles ', but there wasn't anything positive known about them. One was called Spinks, but of course, that didn't mean anything to them yet.

They took their findings back to Cowley, who was equally disappointed. But he did realise how hard they had worked at it, and sent them 'off-duty'.

So it wasn't till he reported in next morning that Doyle heard that, strangely, there had been no word from Bodie. He decided to go and ask about this. He went along to his boss's door, tapped and was called in.

Cowley was on the phone, so he stood quietly and waited, controlling his anxious impatience. Cowley put the receiver down, and turned his attention back to his agent, a worried expression on his face.

"Bodie ?," queried Doyle.

"He appears to be missing," replied Cowley. "When I didn't hear from him, I contacted the police in Oxford. He'd been there all right, and had left them to go to Aylesbury. They got on to the police there and found he had never arrived. I have given them his car details, and they are instigating an immediate A.P.B. on that, and a widespread search of the area."

He glared at the man before him. "Why are you still here ?," he snapped. "Get up there and find him !"

Doyle knew from experience that his boss's brusqueness was merely a mask for his concern. But he didn't need telling twice, and hurried out. Before long he was well on the way to Oxford, and making good time, as it was still early, and the traffic was only starting to build up.

On arrival he was met by an anxious-looking Inspector Mills, who led him at once to the map room.

"He would have taken this road," he explained, indicating it on the map.

"But he didn't get to the Aylesbury police station," said Doyle. He studied the map, and indicated a turn just short of the town. "What's this road ?," he asked.

"A minor road," replied Mills. "It goes north through several villages, and eventually joins up with the main road and back towards the M6."

"Hm," said Doyle. The answer though very clear, wasn't a great deal of help.

"They're searching the whole area, sir," said Mills earnestly. "We'll find out something soon, I'm sure."

But as the morning wore on, reports were coming in continually, but they were all negative. By lunchtime, Inspector Mills was finding it difficult to remain optimistic, as he marked off different areas on his maps as 'cleared'.

"Well at least we know his car isn't still in Oxford," he said at last, as yet another report was handed to him. "And it isn't on Aylesbury's streets either," he added. "Trouble is that means the search has now widened, and there are so many rural areas round about. Makes it much harder to cover quickly."

Doyle nodded. He appreciated their difficulty. For them in London, an A.P.B. usually brought quick results, but not if they had to go beyond the limits of the built-up areas.

Mills took him down to lunch in the canteen, leaving strict instructions that any positive report was to be brought to him immediately. But nothing did interrupt their meal. They were just finishing their coffee, when a constable entered at a run, and thrust a paper into his senior's hands. Mills scanned it quickly and jumped to his feet.

"They've found the car ?," queried Doyle hopefully.

"No," replied Mills. "There's been a raid on a small jewellery shop. Killed the owner and ransacked the place. Sounds as if it could be the gang you've been telling us about."

He was moving off quickly, making for the door. Doyle jumped to his feet and raced after him.

"Can I tag along ?," he asked. It was really only a courtesy request, for with his authority, he didn't need to suggest it.

"Of course," said Mills at once. "I'll be glad to have you with us. It sounds a bit nasty."

A car was waiting for them, and the driver took them expertly through the busy streets towards the edge of the city. The speed at which the report had come meant that they were only a few minutes behind the local police. A sergeant spoke deferentially to Mills.

"It's the owner who's dead, sir," he said. "A Michael Pearson. The place is a mess. It's been torn apart, and they've taken everything of value, by the look of it." He wasn't exaggerating. The small shop was a shambles.

Doyle saw it all as he followed Mills in. The body of the owner lay in the shop's front room, shot in the head. The room was in disarray with empty trays littering the floor amongst the broken glass of display cabinets, rifled and empty.

Doyle moved on into the back room. They had been in here too, for drawers were open and empty, some tossed down on the floor. Cupboard doors were hanging almost wrenched off their hinges, showing shelves stripped bare.

Doyle moved back into the hallway which led through into a little kitchen.

Suddenly, he held up a commanding hand. "Everyone quiet !," he ordered. He had heard an unexplained sound.

The trained men responded instantly to his authoritative command and 'froze' where they stood, listening intently, as he was doing.

The sound came again, a small suppressed whimper. Locating it, he moved quickly and pulled open the door of a small cupboard right beside the kitchen door.

And there, crouched among the brooms and mops, was a child, a small girl, trembling and pale with fright !

Doyle instantly crouched down, and held out his hand. "Don't be afraid," he said softly. "You can come out now."

Slowly, fearfully, the girl began to move and stand up. She reached out her hand, and Doyle took it, gently pulling her towards him. Recognizing something trustworthy about him, she suddenly capitulated, and all but threw herself into his arms, sobbing on his shoulder, as he closed his arms around her.

"I was so scared," she whispered in his ear, "There was no much shouting and noise."

Swiftly he gathered her up and carried her into the small kitchen. He didn't want her to see the chaos in the other rooms, and particularly not the body out in the shop. He set her down on a chair, and crouched beside her. One little hand was still clinging to his sleeve.

Mills had re-acted well. He waved to the other policemen to back off, and followed Doyle into the kitchen alone, closing the door behind him and standing unobtrusively by it, keeping silent, and watching the man and the child.

"What's your name, love ?," asked Doyle quietly.

"Sarah," she whispered timidly.

"Shouldn't you be in school ?," he asked, trying to distract her from her state of fear.

Something in this evidently re-assured her, and she became less frightened and began to respond.

"It's half-term," she replied. "Uncle Mick looks after me when Mummy has to work. I stay with him till she comes to fetch me. He says it's no trouble. When there are no customers, we play 'hide and seek'. But if I hear anyone come into the shop, I stay quiet and still till they've gone."

That probably saved your life, thought Doyle to himself.

Sarah continued chattily, "He always finds me easily, for there aren't many places to hide," she went on. "But he pretends he's searching, and it's fun."

Her face clouded over. "Today was different," she said. "I heard someone come in, so I waited, and then there was shouting and banging and loud noises. I was very frightened."

"It's all right now, they've gone," said Doyle, smiling at her.

Just then the sound of a woman's voice was heard from beyond the door. Mills opened it, to admit Sarah's mother, white-faced, having just seen her brother's body, and learnt what had gone on. She gazed anxiously at her young daughter.

Doyle quickly stood up, and moved between her and the child.

"She doesn't know what's happened," he said very quietly. "Can you get her away without….?"

"Yes," said the woman, quickly understanding. "There's a back way out."

Mills interposed. "I'll get you taken home," he said. He called in one of the policemen and had a quick word.

"Bye, Sarah," said Doyle, as the driver followed the woman and child to a door the other side of the kitchen.

Sarah waved to him happily. I don't envy the task her mother is going to have, telling her, thought Doyle.

As there was nothing more they could do, Mills and Doyle returned to the police headquarters, leaving the local men to deal with the situation. Already there were door-to-door enquiries going on, to see whether anyone had seen or heard anything useful. They checked on the reports that had had come in while they were out, but there was nothing of interest.

Doyle was getting restless, anxious to be doing something. It was taking a long time to find Bodie's car. Where could it be ? And where was Bodie ?

Bodie was not faring at all well. He was tied to a chair in the big farmhouse kitchen. Spinks had injected him with his so-called 'truth-drug', but it had not worked as expected. Instead of making him docile and ready to answer questions, it had sent him into a totally unresponsive trance.

Toki had been disgusted, and was all for getting rid of him instantly, but Sven ruled otherwise.

"There is so much he could tell us," he said. "Perhaps you gave him too much, Spinks. Just keep an eye on him for a while, and see if it's better when it wears off a bit."

Later that evening Doyle made a phone call to London, and was soon talking to his boss. He quickly related all that had happened.

"Well, it seems to confirm that the Tonga Gang are definitely somewhere in the area," said Cowley. "You need help, though. I'll organise a back-up squad, and send them up," he added, his busy mind already planning the details.

There was a moment's pause. "But no news of Bodie yet ?," he asked, his voice sombre.

Neither of them voiced the dark thought that was in both their minds. Bodie had been missing for some time now.

Had he encountered the Tonga Gang.? And if he had, would they eventually find his body dumped somewhere by this ruthless lot.? Not a pleasant thought.

One which disturbed Doyle's rest, as he tried to sleep, in the spare room at the small flat where Mills, a single man, lived. They returned to the station together next morning, and were surprised to hear that there was a man waiting to speak to them. They entered the briefing-room where a man rose to greet them. He quickly introduced himself.

"I' m Jim Robson," he began. "I'm Sarah's father." That enlightened them, of course.

"First I want to thank you for how well you handled Sarah yesterday." he said. "We haven't told her about her uncle yet. She had such a scare we thought we'd let her recover a bit first."

The two listening men nodded understandingly. Sarah was very young and needed to be handled gently.

"She's normally such a chatterbox," went on her father, "but she was very quiet when I first got home. But later, when I put her to bed, she was much better and had quite a lot to say. There was one thing she said which I felt I had to pass on to you, as it might be helpful."

"Oh, what was that ?," asked Doyle, immediately interested.

"She said she heard voices quite close to, as if they were standing outside the door where she was hiding. One man said something about 'going back to the farm', and the other said its name." Mills and Doyle exchanged looks. This was interesting.

"But unfortunately, she can't remember the name," Robson went on. "She said it was something to do with trees. They've been doing a school project on trees. I tried her with a few suggestions. Oakwood, the Beeches, the Elms etc, but it didn't help and I didn't want to keep on too much, for we want her to forget the whole incident as quickly as possible."

That was very understandable, so the two thanked him, and he hurried off to work, as he was already late.

Doyle followed Mills up to his office. They had hardly reached it before a constable hurried in with a message. Mills turned to Doyle with a smile on his face. "They've found the car," he exclaimed.

"At last," said Doyle, "Where ?."

"Come on, I'll take you there," replied the inspector.

A short while later found them parking on the grass verge, where a constable stood guard over a gate into a field. He quickly directed them as he opened the gate. "It's hidden in that wood over there," he said, pointing to the right hand side of the field. They hurried over and there it was. It was no wonder it had taken them a long time to find it, for it was deep among the trees, and well out of sight from the road.

Beyond it, Doyle glimpsed several figures obviously searching further into the wood. Doyle tried hard to suppress the thought that sprung to his mind, - a fear of what they might well find.

He turned his attention to the familiar car, one of his partner's favourites. He examined it quickly, trying to find anything that might give him a clue as to what had happened to Bodie. He found nothing helpful. He did find Bodie's radio-phone in the glove- box. He's always doing that, he thought, leaving it behind when he's wearing a suit, because it's too heavy in the pockets. Idiot !

He turned to Mills, trying hard to hide his disappointment. "There's nothing helpful here," he said. "The keys are still in the ignition. If I drive it back, can it stand in your yard till I can arrange for it to be collected ?."

Mills quickly agreed that this would be all right. Doyle eased the car back out of the wood, and across the field. He followed the inspector back to the station and saw the car safely stowed in a corner space. He had driven it very carefully, avoiding the normal grip on the steering-wheel, in case there were any finger-prints to be found, but he had no great hopes about that.

When they got back to the station, he followed Mills up the stairs, and urged him towards the map-room.

"Can you show me exactly where it was found ?," he asked. Mills responded eagerly, anxious to be of any help he could. He marked the spot on the map for him, - just a little way up the road he had noticed before, the one that led north. Doyle studied the map.

"What's that ?, " he queried pointing to a thin line a little further north, going off to the right.

"Oh, that's Manor Lane," replied Mills. "It's little more than a track going eventually out to a Manor Farm, but that's empty now. I think there's a couple of places leading off it, but they are no longer working farms, and I don't know whether there's still anyone there. It's a degenerating area."

Doyle decided it was time to call London, to bring Cowley up to date about the car. He got through quickly, and told his boss the latest. "But I learned little from it, sir," he said. "They are searching the area round about. I thought I might go and have a look myself."

"Do it cautiously," ordered Cowley. "We know what an unpleasant ruthless lot they are. I've organised a back-up team. There are two cars on the way. They should be with you in a couple of hours. Wait for them."

Doyle wandered back into the map-room and studied the area again. He wished he could think of something positive to do. He hated being inactive.

Mills was suddenly called away to take a phone call. So Doyle took the opportunity to leave in his own car. To ease his restlessness, he thought he might do a bit of searching on his own. A deserted farm sounded interesting, though the police had looked at it already.

So he passed the spot where Bodie's car had been found, and turned into Manor Lane. As Mills had said it was little more than a track, not made-up, very rough and muddy. But he pushed on, and eventually came to Manor Farm. He halted his car in the yard and got out to have a look.

It was very disappointing. Not only was it deserted, but it was beginning to fall down. Part of the roof had already gone, and the adjoining barns were collapsing into piles of rotting old timbers.

This clearly wasn't the gang's hiding-place !

He got back in his car and started back down the lane. It was flanked on both sides with empty fields and the occasional stretch of woodland.

And then he saw it !

Leaning drunkenly against the mossy wall, half hidden by spreading ivy, was a faded weather-beaten said in large letters. WILLOWVIEW FARM. !

Sarah had said something about trees, hadn't she ? And 'willow' was without question a tree !

Beyond it was an opening. He coasted gently down to it, and his excitement increased. The track into the farm was muddy, and bore signs of heavy tyre tracks. He eased a little further, and looked down the driveway. There wasn't much to be seen, just a yard in front of an ancient-looking farmhouse, and a few tall dark barns. No cars in sight. Apparently deserted, but what about the tyre tracks ?

Making a quick decision, he increased his speed, and went on down the lane till he found a gap in a little wood. He pulled the car into that, climbed out, and began to walk back towards the farm, not on the road, but through the wood and across the fields.

As he went he tried to pin down a memory. He had heard the farm's name, Willowview, somewhere before, but not here and not recently.

His dense of direction was pretty good, and he soon found himself coming up in the neglected gardens behind the farmhouse. He crept nearer, looking carefully but there was no sign of life anywhere. He eased his way through a half-collapsed archway, and could now see the back door of the building.

Suddenly, he sensed a presence behind him, and swung round, to be confronted by the biggest dark-skinned man he had ever seen !

Toki, bored with being confined to the house, had flouted Sven's orders, and sneaked out for a stroll in the fresh air. He had kept to the back of the house, so that he wouldn't be seen from the road, should anyone happen to be passing.

Taken completely by surprise, Doyle could only stare for a moment, a moment too long, however.

Two massive arms shot out, and enveloped him in a bear-hug, lifting him completely off his feet. He struggled vainly against the giant's grip, kicking him in the shins as hard as he could. But he was helpless as Toki moved towards the back door, kicked it open, and carried his find into the farm kitchen where most of the gang were sitting.

"I've found a 'snooper'," he announced, setting Doyle back on his feet, and swinging him round to face them.

Then Doyle made a mistake !

He had seen the helpless figure of his partner, bound to a kitchen chair. Relief at seeming him alive, and concern for his mate's blank expression, swept through him.

"Bodie," he almost yelled.

Sven was quick to pick up on this. "You know him ?," he exclaimed. Quickly moving forward, he 'frisked ' Doyle expertly, as Toki's heavy hands held him still. "Another C.I.5 man ," he snarled, as he found Doyle's I.D. card. "How did you get on to us ?," he demanded fiercely. When Doyle didn't answer, he lost his temper and struck him several times, with no result, of course.

Shaken, the volatile Sven was pacing the room. "I don't understand it," he exclaimed. "How have they found us so quickly ? I thought we were well hidden here."

Then finally, he snapped and lost control. "I've had enough of this," he yelled. "We'll get rid of them both, and then I'll have to look for somewhere else for us to go."

Wildly, he issued orders to his men. "Throw them down the old well," he shouted. "They'll never be found there."

The rest of the gang immediately jumped into action. They had never seen Sven in such a panic before, and it was being communicated to them as well.

Bodie was untied from his chair, but he was totally unresponsive, and limp in their hands. So he was just picked up and carried as the gang moved to the back door. Doyle was grabbed by a couple of the others and pulled after them.

He fought them all the way, as they dragged him towards the ruined well top, digging in his heels with all his strength. But with both of them a head taller than him, and built like prize-fighters, he had little success. They could so easily have knocked him out to make their task easier, but he guessed correctly that they were enjoying a sadistic pleasure in his useless struggling.

Just in front of them was another, man just as large, who had Bodie slung over his shoulder as if he was a light weight, which Doyle knew well he was not. This man reached the shallow stone circular wall, which was all that remained of the old well, and seemingly effortlessly heaved the limp form he was carrying over the edge.

Doyle's heart sank. Then from far below, he heard a dull splash. So it was not a dry well.

He had little time to ponder about this, as it was his turn next. His two captors picked him up as easily as a rag doll, and pitched him head first into the dark opening.

Then the gang left, returning to the farmhouse, without the least compunction for what they had just done.

Doyle dropped down into the darkness. Instinctively, his arms curled round to protect his head. He hit the water, but the well was evidently very deep, for before he hit the bottom he had squirmed round like a tadpole, and was striking up for the surface.

On the way, he bumped into something. Knowing immediately that it was Bodie, he grabbed hold of him thankfully, and dragged him with him, till both their heads were above water

But that wasn't the only object he had encountered in his dive into the murky water. Along the way, his leg had met heavily with something hard. When he surfaced, he found out what it was.

It was a heavy length of wood, probably a piece of the super-structure that the old well had had when it looked like a wishing-well. It was trying to float but as it was longer than the well's diameter, it could not get totally horizontal, but floated partially upright.

As his fingers told him what the object was, Doyle had an idea.

Still hanging on to his partner's limp form, he caught hold of the bit of wood near one end, and with a struggle lifted it as high as he could out of the water tipping it against the wall to help him. He twisted his wrist to turn it as near horizontal as it would go, across the space above him. Of course, because it was longer than the well's width, it wedged both ends against the walls, one just under the water, but the top end well out of it.

Using his last remaining strength, he reached up, and pulled on it as hard as he could, trying to use his full weight. The splintered end crumbled slightly above him, but he achieved the desired effect at last. The length of wood was well and truly wedged across from wall to opposite wall.

Exhausted, he rested for a bit, treading water to keep them both up. Then summoning a final effort, he heaved Bodie up and over the improvised roost, towards the top end. With a real struggle, he got him resting over it, with his arms dangling on the other side, and his head well above water.

For the moment, he had averted the imminent danger of them both drowning in the deep murky depths, which was the fate intended for them.

What now ?

He gazed upwards. Because the old well was so much wider than normal, being four to five feet across, and it was near the middle of the day, a fair amount of light penetrated quite a way into the space above him. He could see a lot of the rough stone circular walls, and estimated that the water level was some fourteen or fifteen feet down from the top.

Then he spotted something !

The old well had evidently been regularly inspected when it was in use, for there was an iron ladder coming some six feet down on one side. It blended into the dark walls, only noticeable when the sunlight high-lighted the orange rust patches on it.

If only he could reach that, it might be strong enough still, to let him climb out.

He reached out and checked Bodie's pulse. It was still strong and regular, but he showed no signs of waking up. Please stay like that a bit longer, Doyle begged silently.

He knew he had to make some sort of attempt to get out, but it would be dreadful if he succeeded, only to find that his mate had stirred and slipped back into the dark depths while he was gone. On the other hand, he couldn't just stay here and watch him.

He pulled hard on the piece of wood. It still felt solid, wedged between the opposing walls. But would it stay like that if he put his weight on it ?

Very cautiously, he began to ease himself up. It creaked a little, a scary noise, but it appeared to be holding firm. First he managed to lay over it, in much the same way as Bodie. Then with a lot of wriggling, he got first one knee and then the other onto it.

So far, so good.

He hadn't felt it give in the slightest. Now came the difficult bit. His fingers scrabbled to find some sort of hand-hold on the rough walls, as he eased himself upward. He knew a bit about hand-holds and toe-holds because he'd done a bit of climbing with Murphy and Bodie, who were both very good at it. But that had been with ropes and full safety precautions.

Then he was standing on the lower end of the beam. He heard as slight creak, and stood stock still for a moment, holding his breath, but the sound wasn't repeated.

Now the bottom rung of the ladder was tantalizingly only a few feet above him.

He moved his right hand a little higher, and swore under his breath as he broke a finger-nail. A few inches to the left, he found a better grip, and began to move upward, as his left foot searched for some sort of toe-hold.

He managed one step, but the second one he tried, the stone crumbled beneath his weight. His hands scrabbled wildly, but couldn't hold him, and down he went. Fortunately, he had moved far enough round so that he hit neither the beam nor Bodie, but went straight down into the water again.

He surfaced quickly and hung onto the beam to rest. Refusing to give in to his despairing thoughts, he summoned all his strength, and went through the whole procedure again. This time things went better. He moved upward very slowly and cautiously, testing every hold before relying on it.

After what seemed an age, his now-shaking fingers closed on the bottom rung of the ladder. He gripped it tightly, testing its strength. It appeared to be all right. As it had never been under water, the rust on it was only due to rain, and the damp atmosphere. Still seeking toe-holds, but with his hands now gripping the rungs, he eased himself up.

His relief when he managed to get a foot on the bottom rung gave him renewed strength. He mounted the rest of the way quickly, and tumbled over the low stone wall, to lie still for a moment, savouring the feel of the solid ground beneath him, and letting the sun warm him. Fortunately, the old well could not be seen from the farmhouse, so his escape would not have been observed.

But he only rested for a moment, for he still had much he wanted to do. He had now remembered why the name Willowview Farm had rung a bell earlier. Two other agents, friends, who were into cross-country running, had mentioned that they had been to such a place near Oxford last summer to take part in a race in the surrounding fields there.

If this was so, there ought to be some stuff somewhere about that would fulfil his needs. He had to find it quickly. It was most likely to be in one of the barns. He could get to them without being seen if he crept round the back. They were nearer to him than the house.

He found what he was after, in the first small barn he came to. A quick search revealed in a far corner, a pile of stakes and coils of thin rope, used to mark out the course for the cross-country races. It was only a light-weight rope but there was lots of it, and used double it would serve his purpose. Picking up a coil of it, he hurried back to the top of the well. He peered over the edge. There was just enough light to show him, much to his relief, that Bodie's slumped form was still in position.

Quickly he secured the doubled rope to a nearby very sturdy tree, and carefully dropped the ends down the well. It was amply long enough.

Using the ladder for the first bit, he descended into the depths. The water was cold as he dropped into it again, but he disregarded that as he did what he had come for. He worked the rope under Bodie's body where it rested on the beam, and knotted it securely in the small of the broad back. He had achieved what he wanted. Although he on his own would not be strong enough to pull Bodie out, at least he had ensured that if he stirred and moved, he would not slip back into the unknown depths of the dark water.

He felt for his mate's pulse again, - no change. He checked that his knots were secure. Then with the help of the now-taut rope and the iron ladder, he quickly climbed out again.

He had to get help ! Then he remembered about the back-up team that Cowley had said he was sending. How near were they ?

He didn't have his radio-phone, of course. The gang had taken that. But there was the car-phone, and his vehicle was not far away. Moving back into the fields and well away from the barns and the farm house, he raced to where he had left it. When he reached it, a quick fumble under the wheel-arch located the spare key hidden there, - a trick often employed by agents.

In a moment, he was in the car and activating the radio. "4.5 to base," he called urgently, using the special numbers he knew, hoping he was still within range.

To his surprise he was answered by Cowley himself. "Doyle ! At last," said his boss. "Where are you ?"

"I need help, urgently," Doyle interrupted. "Bodie's stuck down a well."

"Down a well ?," exclaimed Cowley incredulously.

"It's too long a story," said Doyle. "It's at a farm and the Tonga Gang are there. Back-up, ?"

"Must be somewhere near you," replied Cowley, "Murphy's in contact. I'll put you through to him."

Never was Doyle so pleased to hear his friend's voice, and even more delighted to hear that the two cars were within yards of Manor Lane. So it only took a few more minutes and they were pulling up beside him, as he stood at the edge of the road. In minutes he was surrounded by fellow agents, among them some of C.I.5's best marksmen.

If Murphy was shocked by Doyle's exhausted and bedraggled look, he didn't show it, but listened intently as he told them the whole story.

"Right," he said, "If the gang are planning to move elsewhere, we'd better deal with them first. Everybody arm up."

The car boots were quickly opened and the guns and plenty of ammunition were distributed among the men.

"Can I have a gun ?," asked Doyle.

"I don't think so," replied Murphy. "Your hands look too sore." Doyle held up his hands to look. It was the first time he'd realised how much he had damaged them in his scrabbling efforts to climb out of the dark well.

Murphy took a moment to apprise Cowley of the situation, and to get his sanction for them to go in and take out the Tonga Gang.

Cowley had some final encouraging words for his men. "Remember this is a very nasty gang, completely merciless, so you need show none. Get rid of them as fast as you can."

Murphy turned to Doyle. "What you can do," he said, "Is show Barton and Watson the quickest way to cover the back of the house." Doyle nodded. This he could manage, tired though he was.

Murphy turned to Barton. "Let us know when you are in position," he ordered. "Then we'll sweep in with the cars, and mount a double hit, front and back at the same time."

Doyle set off back through the wood and across the fields, and led the two men to where they could see the back door. Barton called Murphy and received the instruction to move in as soon as he heard the cars arrive.

And so occurred one of C.I.5's quickest and deadliest pieces of action.

The Tonga Gang, who were spread through the house, putting together their stuff ready to leave, as ordered by the panicked Sven, were completely 'caught on the hop'. All immediately drew their guns, of course, and tried to put up some resistance, but it was short-lived.

As Barton and Watson charged in, two of the gang were immediately caught there, packing up food supplies. One more was half-way down the stairs with a heavy bag, and quickly fell the rest of the way down, hit by an accurate shot from Murphy, just inside the front door.

Spinks, who was in the other front room attempted to climb out of the window, to run across the yard to the cars in the barn. He didn't make it ! One of the men behind Murphy turned back out of the door, and downed the evil man with a well-placed distance shot.

As Barton joined Murphy at the foot of the stairs, Sven appeared on the top landing, a gun in each hand, firing wildly in 'cowboy style'.

It would be hard to say which man ended the career of the gang leader, for both fired instantly, and both were deadly accurate marksmen. Sven tumbled head over heels all the way down the stairs, but he was dead long before he reached the bottom. They dragged the body out of the way, and started up the stairs.

How many more were there ?

In fact there was only one, the big Tongan, Toki. He proved to be the most difficult, for he had barricaded himself into one of the big bedrooms, dragging a heavy wardrobe across the door. But this barrier did not last long, under the combined assault of several hefty C.I.5 men. Eventually it was pushed back, and a fusillade of shots hit the big man making for the far window. He dropped to the floor with a thud.

A quick check round revealed no more villains, and the triumphant men went back downstairs, elated by the knowledge that they had successfully got rid of a very nasty gang of thugs.

They congregated in the large kitchen. Doyle was there, having followed the others in. He was looking anxious. "Can we get Bodie out now ?," he asked. "I'll show you where the well is."

But Murphy put a restraining hand on his friend's arm, and found it trembling. "Not you, Ray," he said firmly. "We'll find it ourselves. You've done your bit. You're out on your feet." He pushed him into a chair by the table, and called to one of the men.

"Jackson," he said. "Look after Doyle, will you ? Get him a hot drink, and see if you can find a blanket, or something warm."

Doyle gave up fighting the fatigue that threatened to overtake him. He gave in, and collapsed onto the table before him, resting his head on his folded arms. Jackson was already filling the kettle as the other men swept out.

Murphy was an expert climber, and the boot of his car always held climbing ropes and equipment. So with the help of the several strong men with him, it was not long before Bodie was pulled up from the deep dark hole. He was quickly carried into the kitchen, and laid on a settle, wrapped up in one of the blankets Jackson had found upstairs. The other was tucked round Doyle's shoulders, and now his hands were firmly clasped round a mug of hot tea.

Murphy came in from stowing away his so-useful climbing gear, and addressed the waiting men. "I've had a word with the boss," he said. "He's very pleased. He's going to get on to the local police at once to come in and clear up." The men nodded. That was a job they were glad to get out of.

"As for us," continued Murphy. "A quick hot drink all round and then we go home." He issued a few further orders. "Peters and Watson will you go down and bring Doyle's car up to the yard. Then you can take him back. Don't let him drive,- he's not fit." The two men nodded and left.

"Jackson, will you look after Bodie in the back of my car ? I don't know quite what's wrong with him." Bodie had remained in the same unmoving trance-like state, ever since they had found him. "We've to take them both back to St. Richar's, as quickly as we can. They'll know how to sort him out," he added confidently. Things moved quickly after that as each man responded to Murphy's orders.

The cavalcade of powerful C.I.5 cars was soon eating up the miles on their way back to London.

One of them, with Barton in charge, went straight back to Head quarters to report to Cowley. The other two sped on to St. Richard's hospital, already pre-warned of their coming.

On arrival Bodie was whisked away into the care of the drug experts, who would test to see what he had been given, and prescribe appropriate remedies.

Doyle was left to the care of his friend Dr. Fenton, who pushed him into a small side room. Quick to see how tired his patient looked, he indicated the bed. Doyle protested, saying he was all right, but the doctor insisted. "I've got to check you over," he said reasonably. "and I can't do it properly if you're standing up."

The astute man could well see how exhausted his friend was, and knew he needed to rest. He quickly ran expert hands over him, and found only a badly bruised leg, superficial damage to his hands, and signs of muscle strain, but by the time he'd finished, Doyle had dropped off to sleep.

He summoned a nurse and issued orders "He's all right," he said, "Just make him comfortable, and let him sleep. He'll feel much better by the morning."

He was right about that. When he popped in to see him next morning, Doyle was sitting up, enjoying breakfast, and quite himself again. But his first enquiry was an anxious one about his partner.

"He's doing well," said Fenton, re-assuring him. "They are working to clear his system, and he's responding. He's awake and becoming steadily more lucid." Doyle was relieved.

"As for you," went on the doctor. "One more visitor, and then you can go." He exited quickly, leaving Doyle looking puzzled.

One more visitor ? What did he mean ?

There was a tap on the door. A pretty young woman, not in uniform, entered.  
"Hullo," she said with a smile, "I'm Simone. I usually work on the women's wards, but Dr, Fenton asked me to have a look at you."

Doyle was even more puzzled. Women's wards ?

"I'm a manicurist," she explained. "I understand you have some broken nails."

So Doyle spent the next half-hour very pleasantly, as she trimmed the broken nails, smoothed away all the rough edges and finally gently massaged both his hands with soft healing cream.

He felt decidedly pampered, and was sorry when the session ended. He thanked her profusely and she left. He recovered his clothes, dressed and left. He did try to get in to see his mate, but was refused.

"He's resting and doing well," said the strict Sister who turned him away.

He went back to Headquarters and endured a long session with his boss. Cowley wanted to be told again every detail of what had happened.

But at last, he realised that Doyle could add nothing further, and dismissed him. Doyle collected his car and went home, thankful to relax again in the familiar surroundings of his own little flat.

Doyle's superficial injuries healed quickly. Bodie took a few more days to recover completely. Both men had responded well, however, and things soon got back to normal. They were back on duty again.

But a day or so after their return, a piece appeared on the notice-board, downstairs. It read,

**"_Ding, dong bell'_**

_**The Tonga Gang from** **Hell.**_

**_Dropped Bodie down a well._**

**_But Doyle got him out,_**

**_So what's all the fuss about ?_**

It caused a lot of amusement among the agents who saw it, not least to the two concerned. Nobody would own up to writing it though.

In due course, Cowley heard about it and came down to have a look. He was not amused.

"Get rid of it," he ordered, "It's the most dreadful doggerel !."

But no-one saw his wry smile as he returned upstairs.

It said a lot for the calibre of his men, he thought, that they could find humour in what could have been a very nasty business.


End file.
